The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

trying different proportions. This one seems to work.”

She set the crock on a rock. Scooping out a handful of gray goo, she rubbed it on her face, neck, and farther down. Plunging into the pool rinsed most of it off. She scrubbed at the residue with her hands.

“Oh, my God,” said Elderberry. “I’ve been out of soap for weeks. May I have some?”

“Certainly. We want to know how well it works for everyone.”

Shellbutton brought the crock over to her.

Elderberry started with her hair, massaging the goo into her long mop. The excess went onto her face and ears. Then she stood in the waterfall, scrubbing at herself until the soap was gone.

When Elderberry came out from under the waterfall, Mistress Filigree asked, “Is it moisturizing?”

“Hell, no,” answered Elderberry. “My skin is wrinkling at the touch of the stuff. It’s damn harsh. But I’m clean. God, I feel clean.”

Shellbutton poured soap into Filigree’s waiting hands.

***

Duke Stonefist burst into his pavilion. “I’m an idiot,” he declared.

The padded gambeson he wore under armor was held closed with a dozen pairs of laces. The duke undid half of them before pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor. A sweat-soaked t-shirt landed on top of the gambeson.

Duchess Roseblossom didn’t pause in setting stitches in a ripped jerkin. “What’s the matter?”

Stonefist poured some water into a towel and began a hasty spongebath.

“Remember that kid Thistle?”

“The food thief?”

“Yeah. After his second offense I threatened to flog him. Figured that would scare him enough to behave.”

She stopped sewing. “It didn’t?”

“No. Grabbed some venison and ran into the woods. They caught him when he came back. Court’s in an hour.” He dropped the towel on the pile. “An hour from when they found me at practice.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Roseblossom.

“God. First I’m going to make damn sure he’s guilty. Talk to all the witnesses.”

“And if he is?”

Stonefist knelt before a wicker chest, pulling out his “Lord High Executioner” outfit. Black linen pants, a white shirt, a black velvet Elizabethan doublet, and matching hat. She let him use getting dressed to delay answering.

“I have to make him stop,” said Stonefist. “If he gets away with it more people will start stealing. The ones he’s robbed will take food to make up for it. We’re too short on food. Everyone’s hungry.”

Roseblossom didn’t say anything.

He sighed. “Too many people know I threatened to flog him. If I don’t follow through I destroy my credibility. And then what happens? We have a dozen thieves and mobs lynching them. Anarchy.”

The last word was said with the horrified tone of a man describing the worst thing he can imagine.

“So you don’t have a choice,” said Roseblossom.

“I haven’t found an alternative that works yet. Damned well trying to think of one.” He pulled black shoes onto his feet. They weren’t the proper style for Elizabethan dress. Replacing them had been one of his priorities before . . . this.

Stonefist stood and checked himself with a mirror. He looked every inch a Lord High Executioner. The joke felt less funny today.

He put the mirror down. “If I wasn’t such an idiot I would have been coming up with options ever since I made the threat. Or not made it in the first place.”

Duchess Roseblossom came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re a good man. You’ll find the best option. Even if there isn’t a good one.”

That produced a sigh. “That’s what I’m afraid of. If all I can do is the least bad it’s hard to call it justice.”

“If there has to be a flogging,” she murmured, “Sharpedge could do it.”

“No. I’m not going to make my squire do my dirty work. If I pass the sentence I’ll carry it out.”

He turned around and returned the hug. Then a quick kiss and he was gone.

***

Stonefist pushed himself to get to the court early. Trotting over drove his heart rate up again. He breathed slowly to relax. He’d taken it easy at the fighter practice, critiquing others more than he’d traded blows himself, but his body was still feeling the strain. Not the impression a dignified judge should present. He was hungry, too. Maybe he should have nibbled something from their cache to take the edge off. Didn’t want to be too harsh because of low blood sugar. Too late.

King Estoc was already waiting behind the royal pavilion’s curtain.

Lord Goldpen, one of the courtiers, slid through the overlap in the curtain. “Your Majesty, Your Grace, everything is in position. The petitioners are waiting.”

Estoc nodded. He’d been quiet in his grief.

“Thank you,” said Stonefist. His breathing was still faster than he liked. “One minute, please.”

“Water for his Grace,” snapped Goldpen. Another courtier brought a full mug.

Stonefist took a gulp. Ah, Court water. Not river water boiled and left to settle. Someone had gone all the way to one of the clear streams for this.

Half the mug was enough. He handed it back to the courtier and gave Goldpen a nod.

Lord Goldpen sprang into action. He waved a herald ahead of the monarch. He and a courtier each took hold of the overlapping portions of the curtain. A yank opened it wide enough for king and judge to proceed out side by side.

The herald declared, “The Court of the Lord High Executioner, under the authority of His Majesty King Estoc, is now open. Let those who wish for justice attend.”

The king took a couple of steps forward then turned to sit on his throne. It was tucked into a corner, letting him observe but not distract attention from the judge. His presence made the acts of the court official. He didn’t participate in the proceedings.

The judge’s throne was a fancy